Into the Hiatus
by Captain Arianna Trouble
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is often called the 'Greatest Detective of All Time'. Yet how will he handle solving a mystery in modern England, especially when his 'friends' have secrets to hide? Time travel AU, no pairings.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. If I did, every story would have a cat.

A/N: I have not read every single story, so forgive any errors. I have only been able to read those included in my hand-me-down anthology (and it is extremely limited). And if it makes anyone feel better, this is AU.

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Prologue

_Tibet, 1892_

Sherlock Holmes, currently presumed dead, was about to enjoy a pleasant afternoon with a temple of Tibetan monks. He had just been offered a unique looking pipe, part of a ritual ceremony. Before being allowed to meet the head Llama, he had to purify his body and mind of all negativity. This was done through two ceremonies. In the first he drank a bitter tea, one made with specific herbs in order to cleanse the toxins in the body. After the tea came the pipe, which burned, not with tobacco, but with an unknown leaf that even Homes was unable to identify.

After taking a few puffs as instructed by the silent monk accompanying him, Holmes returned the pipe to the stand where it had been. He then sat in silent meditation, closing his eyes and mentally reciting a quick mantra. A noise disturbed him, and he opened one eye to observe what had occurred.

Across the room was a swirling eddy of light. Holmes opened both eyes wide in fascination. No doubt this was a hallucinogenic effect of the drug he had just taken. The monk who was sitting beside him also opened his eyes, aware of the disturbance. This surprised Homes; surely no plant could cause the same vision for two individuals? Either this was not a hallucination, or whatever was within the pipe had a nearly preternatural power.

It soon became evident that the former was the case. The monk, who had been trained his entire life in the art of calm and serenity, had just run from the room in pure fright. The light grew larger, until it was of the right dimensions for a human being to fit through. Holmes simply waited for whatever was going to happen to happen. Of all the mysteries he'd encountered, this was one that he couldn't solve by deduction alone.

There was a sudden distortion in the light, and a human figure emerged. Holmes hardly reacted. The measurements of the anomaly had suggested that it was nothing more than a strange doorway. Rather, it was the new figure that caught his attention. A young man, no more than thirty years of age. He wore clothing that would have been suitable for any London man, yet it was clear that he was uncomfortable in the outfit. Holmes concluded that he wasn't accustomed to wearing such formal clothes. A second, older man appeared behind the first. He was the one who spoke.

"Are you Sherlock Holmes, the famed detective?"

"I believe you already know that to be true," Holmes answered. Although he was still considered 'dead' by the world at large, there were a select few who knew of his continued existence. His brother, Mycroft, was one such person. The only others were his enemies. Since neither of these men were of Moriarty's gang, they were either from his brother or an unknown third party if they knew that he was alive. As such, denying his identity would hardly clear matters up, especially if this was only a highly advanced hallucination.

"We need you to come with us," the older man said. Taking a hesitant step forward, he glanced back at the younger man for assistance. The latter shook his head.

"I'm not going to force him. Edward said that would make him suspicious of our intentions," the young man whispered. The older stranger laughed.

"How is any of this not suspicious?"

"Mr. Holmes," the young man said, "we don't mean you any harm. We just need your unique assistance."

"We have a mystery most, uh, incredible. Sensational, even. No one has been able to solve it."

"Please, will you help us?"

Sherlock Holmes stood up and headed towards the 'light door'. Relief flooded the strangers' faces. They had been worried that the great detective would refuse. If that had been the case, they would have been forced to use a tranquilizer in order to complete their mission.

For Holmes, he could not have been more eager to accept the case. The unusual arrival of his clients was a mystery in and of itself, one that he was determined to understand. Although he knew the inherent risk of placing himself in the care of two such unusual strangers, he really had nothing to lose. The world thought him deceased and, although he planned to eventually return to London, he would not be missed while on this case.

"Glad to have you with us, Mr. Holmes. I am Steven Coleman, and my partner is Heath Austen," the older man said. "Just take my arm and we'll be on our way."

"And where might we be headed?" Holmes asked.

"Back to London," the younger man, Mr. Austen, said. "London, 2009."

With that, the two strangers passed through the light, pulling Holmes through with them into a fantastic new world.

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A/N: Yes, this is a time travel fic. It's the result of reading _The Empty House_ while an episode of _Star Trek _was on TV. A plot bunny was born, and it was so helpless that I took it in. I hope you enjoy the result.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. I think it's pretty clear that I'm not Arthur Conan Doyle.

A/N: Okay, POV shift here. Just wanted to warn you. And I tried to keep the time travel/sci-fi down to a minimum.

Chapter 1

_London, 2009_

For the hundredth time, I cursed myself for allowing this to happen. In a few minutes, Sherlock Holmes, _the _Sherlock Holmes, was going to find himself in the year 2009. At this point, the scientists didn't know whether or not it would be by choice or force, but deep down I figured it would be by choice. He wasn't the sort of person to resist a mystery like time travel.

But this was a terrible idea.

I looked back at the time machine. It looked like a big box, with one giant door on the side. I hadn't exactly been impressed when I first saw it, but from the people who've used it I've heard it's pretty cool. Of course, they weren't concerned about messing up history like I was. They treated it like a toy.

"Yo, Eddie, calm down. I'm sure your hero will be here soon," a man said, coming up behind me. I turned to see Jeff Johnson, one of the scientists who actually made the machine work. "I know you're excited that your man-crush is coming, but your anxiousness is making me anxious. So stop it."

"Maybe it's not such a bad thing if you worry about your friends being dematerialized or trapped in the Victorian era."

"Whatever, Eddie."

"And don't call me that." I pointed to my ID badge. "It says "Edward' for a reason."

"Sure, Eddie." With that, Jeff walked off to actually monitor the machine. I silently cursed him but tried to calm down. If someone as socially inept as he could tell that I was nervous, then I must have really been showing it.

Of course, I had good reason. One mistake and history would be changed forever. Or we could accidentally create an alternate timeline. Or we could erase ourselves from existence. Jeff and the other scientists told me this was impossible, but I could never follow the mumbo-jumbo of their explanations. I had never been that good at Physics class, and time travel only confused me more.

That's why my job was to worry about where we went in time, rather than _how _we got there. As a 'historical consultant', I had to find out the dates for time travel expeditions. It's not exactly how I thought I'd be applying my history major, but it put food on the table.

My other forte was Literature. I'd always loved to read, and one of my personal favorites was Dr. John Watson's accounts of Sherlock Holmes. Growing up, all I ever heard was the he was the greatest detective of all time. That's why a team had been sent to get him to solve our mystery. But no one seemed to notice the one glaring problem with their plan. Sherlock Holmes had trained himself for his entire life on picking up the smallest clues possible and interpreting them. He had trained himself based on his time's standards, and I doubt he could apply those skills now. Yes, he could figure out someone's life story just by the hat they wore. But now…I mean, who even wears hats anymore?

That was one of the main points in my argument against allowing Sherlock Holmes to be plucked from history. I tried to convince everyone that his skills were only applicable to Victorian England, but no one listened. We always have pretty strong debates before removing someone from the timeline. It's company policy.

First, whoever is selected must be brought to the future for a reason. We are a purely scientific group, so normally we send a small team back in time to surreptitiously observe an ancient culture. In the two years since the company started we've managed to settle several mysteries, including how Stonehenge was built. It was easier to send three guys back in time than bring a Druid into 2007, deal with the language barrier and culture shock, all to ask a few questions. Common sense, really.

Second, whoever is selected must have a gap of 'missing time'. That is, a period in their life where very few people will notice they're gone. Sir Walter Raleigh had been interviewed after being taken from one of his expeditions. Now there was accurate information on his early life in all the school textbooks. It had been one of the company's first successes, and it was the reason I have my job.

When the company director, Mrs. Logan, had wanted to know how to get information on Raleigh, I'd told her about his various expeditions in search of El Dorado. That had given them a time frame of when to remove him from time (so to speak). With my information, the science team had taken him from a day long trek he'd taken by himself. They talked to him for a few hours and sent him back perfectly fine. A mild sedative ensured that he didn't remember the encounter at all.

In theory, the same would happen to Sherlock Holmes. We knew he had his 'Great Hiatus', which provided a four year gap in his timeline. We even knew what countries he would be in, which narrowed our search considerably. And we had a mystery for him to solve. Basically, he was a perfect candidate for time travel study. Once we were done with him he'd be sedated and right back in Tibet.

Yet a gut feeling told me it wouldn't be that simple. Sherlock Holmes was _never _that simple.

"Eddieeeeeee, they're coming through!" Jeff sang. If not for the fact that the machine was now buzzing I would have flipped him off. Instead, I watched with baited breath as the time machine lit up. Jeff and the other techs were now busy at work, making sure everyone made it through.

After a minute or so, the humming stopped and the lights dimmed. I could hear voices on the other side of the steel door. They were muffled, but I could almost make out three distinct voices. Three. That meant that Sherlock Holmes was with the team and he was _awake_. I was almost shaking with anticipation.

Two techs in white coats went to the steel door. For an agonizing minute they focused on the door bolts, taking their sweet time unfastening each one. They must be doing it to spite me. Even though they were my friends, none of the techs every missed a chance to tease me since I was, in their words, the positive neutron. Whatever that meant. I think they see me as an outsider, the only History major amongst genius physicists and inventors.

The door groaned when it opened, and I could now see shadowy figures inside the machine. First, Steven Coleman came out. He was already unfastening his coat, no doubt in a hurry for more comfortable clothes. Heath Austen followed, and behind him was _him_.

Sherlock Holmes was here.

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A/N: That's where I leave you for now. Updates are coming soon!

If anyone had a request for a specific situation, leave it in a review and I'll see what I can do (i.e. Sherlock and a computer).


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. If I did, I wouldn't be taking a Studies in Sherlock class tomorrow.

Chapter 2

As against the idea of bringing Sherlock Holmes to the year 2009 as I was, I couldn't contain my joy at seeing him in the flesh. Every sketch and portrait I'd ever seen was now living in front of my eyes. He was tall and thin, just as Dr. Watson had described. His face was the definition of stoicism, with deep eyes that were scanning the room just as I was studying him. Before long, his gaze settled on me, and a satisfied chuckle escaped my throat. He was everything I'd expected him to be.

Sherlock Holmes was now walking towards me, so I coughed my smile away. I had to remember that I had a job. It was my duty to make sure Holmes would survive his visit to our century. That meant showing him how to use basic technology, a task I was not looking forward. The last time visitor we'd had came from 12 century Egypt, and it had been a pain to teach him how to flush a toilet. Hopefully Holmes would fare better in that department.

"Welcome, Mr. Holmes," a woman's voice said. I jumped when I realized that Mrs. Logan, the program director, was standing next to me. I had been so excited that she'd managed to get right behind me without my noticing. Unfortunately, that must have meant that I was really out of it, because the boisterous woman is hard to miss.

"Hello," I added quietly. For a moment Holmes didn't say anything, instead just watching the two of us. Several of the technicians had stopped their work to watch the encounter. We hadn't brought that many people from the past, and none since the Attila the Hun fiasco. A quick glare from Mrs. Logan sent everyone back to their stations. Then, completely switching expressions, she smiled widely at our visitor.

"I hope the trip was a pleasant one," Mrs. Logan said.

"Indeed, it proved quite fascinating." Holmes extended a hand. "Might I ask your names?"

"Well, I'm Cynthia Logan. I'm in charge of our little company. And this is Edward-"

"-Bennet," I quickly finished, offering Holmes my own hand to shake. "Edward Bennet."

"Right. Bennet," she repeated to herself. "He is our resident historian, and a literary expert. It's his job to get you adjusted to our own time. Did Steven explain why you were here?"

"Mr. Coleman only explained that there was a perplexing mystery to be solved, one in which I might be of assistance. Though I fail to see how I can be of help when you have such advanced technologies as to pluck a person from time itself."

"Thank you!" I said, turning to Mrs. Logan. "I guess that means we should send him back."

"Ed, we have to try," Mrs. Logan said sternly. She gripped my arm and turned me away from Holmes. "Don't you dare mess this up. You know how important this is to the company."

"I know. I just think there are alternative methods."

"And it's a bit late to be discussing them now. Mr. Holmes," she said, facing our guest, "I suppose you would like a chance to rest. Ed will-"

"Edward."

"-will give you a brief tour of the facilities and your temporary quarters. Once you're adjusted, we'll begin."

"Thank you, Mrs. Logan. Yet I'm afraid I won't need much time to recuperate."

Mrs. Logan smiled. "Everyone deals with time displacement differently. This is just a precaution, and nothing against you. Ed, he's all yours."

The first thing I did was show Holmes the necessary facilities. We'd stocked his room with food that had been specially processed to resemble that of his own time, in order to keep him from getting any food poisoning. We'd even bought an antique tea set with tea bags. Aside from the edible, everything was top of the line. I showed him how to work the bathroom and kitchen appliances, and I was surprised that he didn't ask any questions. Either he understood it all or he had just decided to teach himself once I was gone.

All in all, he was handling 2009 pretty well. Better than I would have expected, at least. Even though Holmes had a vast intellect, it didn't necessarily mean he would easily adapt to our time. Yet he watched with quiet fascination as I pushed buttons and explained various pieces of technology. By the time I had finished, Holmes was nodding along, as if everything before him was commonplace at his old Baker Street residence.

"That about covers the basics," I concluded. "If you need anything before your meeting with Mrs. Logan, just hit that button and someone will be with you shortly."

"I do have one immediate question, Mr. Bennet," Holmes said. "Is there any particular reason that you doubt my abilities?"

"Uh, I beg your pardon?" I stammered.

"Earlier, you argued with Mrs. Logan about my presence here. I can only assume it's because you believe I will not be of assistance to the lady's dilemma."

"Well, not exactly, it's just…You are from 1892. This is 2009. Our problem is surrounded by modern times, and I don't think your particular skills can be applied to our age. Things have changed over the years, and it might lead you to the wrong conclusions," I said in a sudden burst of honesty. Hero or not, he deserved the truth.

"Ah, so you are concerned that I will be unable to draw a conclusion based on my now outdated points of reference?"

"Exactly! In _The Greek Interpreter, _you and your brother once observed that a man was a war veteran, recent widow, and father of two children based on his appearance." I motioned the detective to sit down while I took a chair from the kitchen. "You knew he was in mourning because he was wearing black. You figured it was his wife because he was doing his own shopping. That wouldn't work now. Lots of men do their own shopping, and sometimes mourners don't wear black. It's nothing against you, Mr. Holmes, but too many standards have changed."

"Then you are implying that I could not deduce facts about you?"

I started. It almost sounded like a challenge. His grey eyes locked onto mine before I nodded.

"Your parents are deceased, leaving you to be raised by a relative. Your grandfather, one with a military background. You are engaged to be married, and you are left-handed. And Bennet is not your surname. How have I done?"

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A/N: Sorry for the delay. School wins over fanfiction :(


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes…obviously.

_A/N: I can't upload new docs onto , so the format of this is a little different since I copied it into an existing doc_.

A/N: Forgive me if I mess up any details concerning Holmes biographical information pre-Watson. I'm using Wikipedia as a source, and we know how reliable _that_ can be. And sorry about the cheesy deductions!

Chapter 3

I was flustered, to say the least. There was no way on earth that Sherlock Holmes could be that good. I had purposefully changed up my appearance so that he wouldn't be able to learn anything about me. It looked like I had been wrong after all. He was the real deal.

"How did you know?" I asked.

"It's simple, really," Holmes replied. "Some things just don't change over time. Now, on what counts were I correct?"

"All of them," I sighed. "I was raised by my grandfather after my parents died. I was engaged three months ago, and I am left handed. I suppose you'll tell me how I gave myself away?"

"If you wish to hear it," Holmes shrugged, as if he wasn't secretly enjoying this. "You favor your left side, a clear indication of your pen hand. Twice you have touched your ring finger and smiled. You are anticipating the ring that will soon occupy that spot. I've seen you hold open every door and greet every passerby. This shows that you were taught to respect others, something an older relative might have bestowed in you. I suspected a relative in the military due to your overall appearance. In a building of loose shirts and beltless trousers, you have both tucked in your own shirt and used a belt. Organization is a trait often acquired by those with military service, something which is passed on. Your hair is cut short so that it stays out of your eyes, of which you need corrective lenses, I might add. You tend to squint."

"I have contacts," I said without thinking. "But how'd you know I was orphaned? My father might have been older and in the military."

"Ah, this is a matter of instinct. From one orphan to another, it is easy to see."

"And my name?"

"You interjected with your surname before Mrs. Logan could say it. That was my first clue. And this, as well." Here the detective smiled. He held up a thin, brown wallet. For a moment I stared in confusion before I realized it was mine. Flipping it open, he revealed the damning driver's license with my real name on it. There were even pictures of my Gramps and parents in there. He handed it back to me with a slight grin on his face. I shoved it into my pocket in agitation. We might have taken him from time, but he was in control here.

"Is there any particular reason you didn't want your origins known, Mr. 'Bennet'?"

"I was worried it might complicate things."

"So you are you I suspect you to be?"

I nodded in response. Shifting in his chair, Holmes beckoned with a finger for me to explain everything. Cursing my coworkers for doing this to me, I began to explain our dilemma. Mrs. Logan might kill me for it, but Holmes knew too much already to be left insatiate.

"Okay, so you've learned I'm Edward Watson. I thought it might be a problem for you to know I was a descendent of the doctor. Which I guess it isn't…Unless you _do _have a problem with it?"

"Not at all. I'm glad to see the progeny of my friend. You have his eyes, you know."

"Well, I – Really?" I suddenly wished for a mirror. I knew I shared Dr. John Watson's genetics, but I never knew I actually resembled him. Holmes nodded. Once again, a surge of giddiness went through me. Since I was young I had known of my connection to the fantastical stories of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, but it had still seemed foreign. That was one of the reasons I had read the stories so voraciously as a youth. Yet to know I had such a physical connection was fascinating.

"Please, continue."

"Right. Well, your stories, er, adventures, are famous. There are university classes dedicated to studying them. There are people who try to reconstruct your entire life based on those few documents."

"So I have been brought to the future to settle the various discrepancies?"

"Partially. You can at least let us know a few details. But you were primarily brought back in order to help us solve a rather personal mystery."

"And now we get to the root of the problem."

"In several of Dr. Watson's texts, he alludes to other mysteries. In one story he mentioned over three volumes of cases, ones that he was unable to publish due to scandal or other outside pressure. Yet we know he physically wrote them. The client who hired us wants those lost adventures."

"As Watson's heir, shouldn't you have inherited these papers?"

"We never had the stories to begin with. It seems that whenever he wrote a truly scandalous account, he'd lock it away somewhere for his records."

"Yes, I knew he kept them under lock and key."

"Do you know where?" I was getting excited now. If Holmes could tell us where those stories were, then we could send him back to Tibet. "Can you lead us to them?"

"Perhaps. Who is this client? The one who would exert the effort of summoning me from time in order to find a few loose papers?"

"I don't actually know. That's information for above my pay grade."

"And why choose me rather than Watson himself? Wouldn't he prove more advantageous?"

"Yes, but it wouldn't be possible. You see, your life has a gap in it. Except for your brother, the world believes you to be dead right now. You do return to England eventually, and there are more adventures after that. But for the years between your disappearance and reintroduction, there is no exact timeline for your life. Watson has no such gap. There are records of him treating patients or assisting the police throughout his entire life. You're the closest person to him that we could take." I paused. "And if you don't already know where he would have hidden them, Mrs. Logan thinks you can deduce it for us."

Holmes reclined in his chair, lacing his elongated fingers together. I was momentarily distracted by the sight. I couldn't help it; it was such a very _Holmes _things to do. His eyes rested on the carpet, growing unfocused in thought. I didn't speak, knowing that he was deducing something. It was several minutes before he spoke.

"I think I will take a brief respite. When Mrs. Logan is ready to address me, I will be waiting here." Holmes said this with a note of finality, and I knew I couldn't argue with him. Instead, I just got up and left, leaving the master of deduction alone in thought.

As I walked away from his rooms, I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. I would have paid anything to be able to read minds. Hell, just his mind. I could only imagine what someone with his deductive skills was now processing. In half an hour he had been taken to a strange future, one where he was famous throughout the literary world rather than just London. And to then be presented with a mystery relating to his only friend…

Not for the first time, I tried to imagine the workings of Sherlock Holmes' mind. Eventually, I just shook my head to clear my head. I would have the chance to pick over his thoughts later. Once I was done with the matters at hand, I promised myself that I would ask exactly what he thought as he was taken through time.

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A/N: The 'three volumes' are mentioned in _The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez._


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. I do own an anthology of his adventures. Not the same thing as owning him, sadly.

Chapter 4

When I got to the conference room, only Heath and Steve were there. Having been the appointed 'time travelers' for this mission, they had to present their findings first, to make sure we didn't make any mistakes when we returned Holmes to the past. More or less, they had to make sure the cover up worked. In this case, they would return Holmes to the exact monastery they'd taken him from, seconds after he had vanished from time. To avoid mistakes, Heath and Steve had to go over every single detail.

"He was sitting on the red cushion."

"It was maroon."

"No, the maroon one was next to him. I know my colors."

"Look, it won't be that hard to find the right cushion. What about the pipe?"

"Which pipe?"

"The big one, on the table."

"That was a pipe?"

I shook my head at their little exchange. Steve often claimed to have a photographic memory, a fact Heath argued to be false. Almost every single time they time travelled they disagreed about some minor detail. Frankly, it was a miracle that they'd ever managed to successfully return anyone to their rightful place in time.

"Hey, Edward," Heath said. He quickly ran up to me and away from his nagging coworker. "So how's Sherlock?"

"Holmes is fine. Adjusting quite well to our time."

"I'm not surprised. That's why I bet fifty in the company pool that he wouldn't have a panic attack. Easy money, there."

I knew the other guys liked to bet about the competence of the time visitors, but I hadn't heard any about Holmes. I was more disturbed by the fact that anyone would bet _against _him than anything else. I myself had ten on his solving the mystery in less than 24 hours.

"Hey," Heath interrupted my thoughts, "where'd your nametag go?"

"What?" I looked down at my belt, where I normally kept my ID. It was needed to get in or out of the building, even though the guards knew almost everyone by name. I was paranoid about losing the thing, which is why I kept an extra one in my locker. But I'd never actually lost the thing…

No.

Oh no.

"You know what, Heath? I'll be right back. I forgot something for Holmes." Before my friend could say another word, I took off running down the corridor. Reaching an intersection, I hesitated before turning to my right. Had I gone to the left I could have gotten my second ID from the locker room, but that would waste precious time.

I got to the hallway where the time visitors were held and I doubled my pace. Holmes room was on the end since he was the only one we had. I threw the door open and almost cried out in disbelief.

Sherlock Holmes was gone.

I checked over the room, making sure he wasn't hidden in the bathroom or the kitchen. In the latter I was very surprised to see that, of all things, the microwave was missing. What on earth was Sherlock Holmes going to do with a microwave?

Groaning, I collapsed on the bed. I took out my wallet to confirm my suspicions. When Holmes had returned it to me, I hadn't even bothered to look inside. Now I could see that a hundred pound note was missing, along with one of my business cards. I closed my eyes in defeat. With my filched ID in his hands, along with money, he could easily get out of this building and into London proper.

I glanced at my watch, surprised that it was even there. At this rate I wouldn't have been surprised if Holmes had stolen my car. Still, I had faith that automobiles would be a little bit beyond the detective.

Now, though, I had a much more pressing problem. In a matter of minutes, Mrs. Logan would want to start her meeting. If she found out I'd let Holmes escape…

My mind raced as I took off out of the room. An idea was already forming in my mind, one that I prayed would work. I'd never had the full creative talent that Dr. Watson possessed, but it was enough in a quick fix. I slowed my steps before entering the conference room, careful to monitor my breathing. No one in there had the analytical skills of Holmes, but they would be suspicious if I bolted in panting.

"Ah, Edward. Where's Mr. Holmes?" Mrs. Logan was smiling at me, but her eyes were searching the doorway behind me. Her mouth twitched when Holmes didn't immediately follow after me. "Did something happen?"

"I just had to give him the medicine, that's all," I sighed, collapsing into my chair. "He is incredibly stubborn about pills, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"It looks like he got the time headache. What was he even doing when you took him?" I directed the question towards Steven and Heath, even though I'd already overheard the answer. It was central to my lie.

"He was in a meditation room," Steven said. "You know, where they sit on the floor? He was smoking a pipe, too."

"Well, that explains it," I said casually. "That was a hallucinogenic tobacco. The llamas often used it to enhance the meditation experience."

"Like marijuana?"

"No, Jeff. This was more spiritual. Normally it's harmless, but combined with the physical and mental strains of time displacement…"

Mrs. Logan nodded, although her mouth was set in a hard line. "This is an unfortunate setback. I was hoping to get him 'on the case' now. It looks like we'll have to wait until Monday."

Again, I thanked my lucky stars for the pure coincidence that it was Friday. We were supposed to get him on Wednesday, but two straight days of thunderstorms caused the delay. Since time travel technology was still rather new, no one wanted to be the first to travel during a thunderstorm.

I raised my hand, waiting for my boss to acknowledge me again. She seemed surprised that I had anything else to say. So did everyone else for that matter. So much for going unnoticed.

"Something else, Ed?"

"I was just wondering, it's nothing really, if I might be able to watch him."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Dude, your man-crush is sick," Jeff said, pulling a face. I ignored him as I pushed on.

"Since it's the weekend, someone has to observe Holmes. And since I'm an, uh, expert…"

"You want to babysit your hero?" Mrs. Logan asked. I nodded. "Fine. But you won't get overtime for it."

"Deal," I grinned. "Thank you so much-"

"Whatever." She waved a hand dismissively. "Make sure he's ready to go first thing Monday morning."

"Of course, Mrs. Logan." After I find and kill him first, I mentally added as I quickly left. "I'll go pack an overnight bag. Be back before you know it."

"The rest of you better have your reports ready by then. I'm looking at you, Jeff."

"Sorry."

Voices faded as I turned the corner. Certain that no one else had left the conference room, I took off running. I had two days to find Holmes. Two days against a man who had already once vanished for three years. This wasn't good.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. Nor do I own Home Securities, Inc. (although I don't think they exist. If they do, I don't own them).

Chapter 5

After a quick stop at my locker to get my back-up ID, I headed straight for the car park. The security guards waved me out without even bothering to check my card. Normally I wouldn't care in the least, but their relaxed attitude might have helped Holmes get out. Still, I didn't utter a word about it until I was safe in my car, where I let loose a stream of expletives worthy of the most foul of men.

Once I calmed down, I tried to think of where Holmes would go. My first thought was Baker Street. Of course, he probably knew that I would think he would go there, so he would pick some other place to hide. I groaned in frustration. It was 2009, which meant that none of his various allies and accomplices were alive to hide him. And certain locations that he knew in the city might be unrecognizable now. Surely Holmes understood that?

Taking a deep breath, I cleared my mind. He had taken money, so he could theoretically get transportation. I rubbed me temple. I was focusing on the wrong issue. The matter at hand was where he would go, not how he would get there. Although if he got on a train he could go farther-

Another grunt of frustration escaped me. Since I had no idea where he would go, I needed a different approach. I would simply drive around the nearby streets, asking if anyone had seen a strangely dressed man with a microwave. I doubt anyone would forget that particular sight.

After 20 minutes of aimless driving, it became clear that quite a few people could forget. Not a single person on the street could recall seeing anyone matching Holmes description. I grew more anxious with every passing minute. Mrs. Logan would expect to see me again before everyone went home for the weekend. My excuse of getting a bag of clothes for my 'babysitting' would only account for my being gone so long.

I nearly crashed into a cyclist when my phone went off in my pocket. My first thought was that it was someone from work and that Holmes' disappearance had been discovered. I gained little reassurance when I saw the word 'unknown' on my caller ID. Tensing for a berating, I answered the phone.

"Hello, is this Mr. Edward Watson?"

"Yes?" This was good. The voice didn't sound mad. Maybe they didn't know it was my fault yet.

"Hi, Mr. Watson, this is Jack from Home Securities, Inc. Your security alarm system was triggered and it alerted us of a potential home invasion. Are you okay?"

"What?" I froze, computing what this man had just said. Someone broke into my house? This day really could not get any worse. First I lose Homes and then…I blinked as I realized the two might be connected. That's when a new idea hit me.

"Oh, sorry. I'm on my way home now. I forgot to give my girlfriend the alarm code." I quickly lied, turning my car around. "Everything's fine."

"Are you sure? We can send the police over to check-"

"No, no. I was just talking to her. It's my fault, sorry."

"Mr. Watson," the man suddenly whispered, "if there are intruders in the house and they're holding you hostage, say 'No thank you, Mrs. Jones'."

I rolled my eyes. "Seriously, it's my girlfriend. Thank you for your concern." I quickly hung up before the man could continue to pester me. Even though he was doing his job, I needed to focus on driving. If I was right, my missing man was right under my nose.

Before long, I had arrived at my home at 60 Victoria Road. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, and I hoped I was right in my hypothesis. If I barged in there only to find a group of street thugs I would have more to deal with than a bruised ego.

I gently tested the knob, satisfied to find that it was locked from the inside. Trying to be quiet, I put in my key and opened the door. The hallway light was on, but I couldn't remember if I had forgotten it this morning. I tiptoed over to my alarm system and entered my seven-digit code, ensuring I wouldn't get anymore 'helpful' calls.

Not daring to move, I listened for sounds of life. After a few seconds, I could make out the sound of footsteps growing closer. A shadow appeared at the end of the hall, preceded by a much smaller yet equally dark shape. A pure black cat came running down the corridor towards me. Then, Sherlock Holmes stepped out from my office.

"Ah, Mr. Watson. Welcome home."

I glared at my visitor. "You need to come with me. Now."

Holmes smiled. "Why is that?"

"You weren't supposed to leave your room. If anyone finds out you've gone then there are going to be a lot of problems."

"My apologies, Mr. Watson. However, it could hardly be helped. I would have been of no use to use cooped up in that facility. Hence my escape."

"And would you care to explain how you managed that?" Despite my anger, I was still incredibly curious as to how he had managed to get away. "And what on earth was the point of taking that microwave?"

"That odd device? It was simply part of the façade. It's an old trick I learned," Holmes went on. "If one looks busy, very rarely will someone bother them. I picked the microwave as it was easy to carry yet unusual to carry. I stowed my overcoat and other apparel that might have given my identity away in the interior. I secured your name card -which is safe on your bureau, you should know- and headed towards the exit. When the guard saw me they held the door open, thinking I was a simple laborer."

"How did you get here?"

"Using you business card, I simply asked as to your residence. A very helpful young lady even hailed a cab for me and explained my dilemma to the driver."

"Your dilemma?"

"You explained that my dear friend's manuscripts are highly famous now. I went out on a limb and claimed to be an impersonator on my way to a class on the character Sherlock Holmes." The detective smiled at this. "It worked impeccably."

"And then you broke into my house once you were dropped off here?" He nodded. "So what did you do to the microwave?"

"Unfortunately, I couldn't bring it with me. It's resting behind several boxes in an alley."

I sighed with relief. A microwave would be easy to replace. Instinctively I picked up my cat, who had been weaving in and out of my legs throughout Holmes' story. The dark creature butted its head against my chin before glaring at our visitor. Holmes chuckled.

"You should know that you have a very good guard hound there."

"Yeah, he's very smart," I said, more to the cat than the detective. Loud purring acknowledged my compliment. "I've even trained him to come when called."

"And what is his name?"

I felt my face go red. "You know what? We should go back. Right now. Before I'm sacked."

"Fine. Yet aren't you interested to know why I felt the need to escape in the first place?" Holmes laced his fingers together. I tried to resist, but once again I wanted the full story.

"Go ahead. But then we go."

"Certainly. I made the decision to leave because I know where those manuscripts are."

I dropped my cat in surprise. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because I believe one of your associates is a dangerous criminal. And your life is in grave danger."

* * *

A/N: I don't know if 60 Victoria Road actually exists (well, I know the road does because I saw it on a map). If 60 does and someone lives there, I'm really sorry. But enjoy your new flatmates!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. I did make Edward, which is why I can call him Eddie.

A/N: I finally got Volume II of Sherlock Holmes. Yay!

Chapter 6

I quickly went into the living room in order to collapse onto my couch. Holmes followed me, seating himself on my grandfather's old armchair. If Holmes opinion was true (something history encouraged me to believe), then getting sacked was the least of my worries.

"What led you to that conclusion?" I finally asked.

"First, I need a few details." I nodded, willing to answer anything he threw at me. "When did your grandfather pass?"

"Seven months ago."

"What precisely did your family inherit from Watson?"

"Not much. There was some question to, uh, legitimacy." I nearly whispered the last word, knowing how strongly Victorian values reflected propriety. The very whisper of scandal had ruined more than one good man.

"How so?" Holmes asked, unfazed by the potential implication of my words. I was thankful for the wonder drug that would erase his memory of this encounter, because what I was about to tell him could change history upon his return. Still, I decided I wouldn't tell him the whole truth. Some things could remain a mystery for now.

"When John Watson died, he believed he was childless. He wasn't. To make a long story short, he had a son with Mary. My great-great-grandfather. I think," I muttered, mentally counting the generations. "Anyway, a lot of people were interested in Watson's possessions when he died. Museums, literary societies, and a few private individuals. When his previously unheard of son stepped forward, there was doubt as to whether or not he was authentic. Several false nieces and nephews also made claims, but eventually John Watson Junior was found to be legitimate. But by the time this happened, most of Watson's things were scattered. Everything we inherited from him is in two steamer trunks in my spare room upstairs."

Holmes nodded. "May I see these trunks?"

I silently directed the detective up the stairs to the room that served only as storage. The two old trunks were nestled in a corner, and I quickly unlocked them. Holmes was still for a moment, but then he knelt down to examine the contents of the trunks. His hands froze when he discovered a gold watch, nicked and dull. The very watch he had observed in _The Sign of Four_.

"I'll go make some tea," I said, making an excuse to leave. I knew that Holmes wasn't one to show emotion, but somehow I could sense that this was a private moment. Even though he knew he would return to a world where John Watson was alive, these trunks and their contents were proof as to the man's eventual mortality. No matter how much of him was machine, the morbid truth was something he needed to deal with alone.

My cat was waiting for me in the kitchen. Being a cat, he was easily annoyed when his routine was changed. Having an unexpected visitor had clearly upset him, causing him to get in my way whenever I tried to take more than a step in any one direction. Finally, he gave up his surreptitious manner and hopped on the counter, meowing in my face.

"Quiet, Holmes," I chastised, dropping the black feline back on the floor. He glared up at me before running off into the hallway. I rolled my eyes at his dramatic exit. As soon as I gave him dinner he would forgive me.

I put the kettle on the stove and waited. By the time the tea was ready, Holmes would be ready to finish his explanation as to why I was in danger. And if I was lucky he'd finally reveal where Watson's memoirs were stashed away. Of course, I was far more concerned about the former than the latter.

_Creak._

I jumped at the sound of my front door opening. Somehow, I managed to disturb the kettle, which fell to the floor with a loud crash. I hopped onto the counter, hoping to avoid the scalding water. A feminine laugh came from the hallway. I turned to see a beautiful young woman standing there, watching me with a smile on her face.

I think it was the only time in my life that I was not happy to see my fiancée.

Normally, Natalie Norton was the person I most wanted to see in the world. Ever since we'd met in primary school, we'd been best friends. Our mutual obsession with literature (and Sherlock Holmes in particular) had only strengthened our bond. Now, with the man himself upstairs, I only wanted her gone.

"Ed, I thought you were at least capable of boiling water," she said, eying the large puddle on the ground.

"I am," I argued, lowering myself gingerly to the steaming floor.

"It doesn't look like it," Natalie laughed, placing a large cardboard box on the opposite counter. "I thought you weren't getting back until later."

"I wasn't, and I'm going right back. What's in the box?"

"You're going back? Edward," she said in a disappointed tone, "I thought we had a plan."

"Look, it's not like I wanted to ruin tonight. But work came up…"

There was a tense silence. After a minute Natalie smiled again. "It's Holmes, isn't it? You're worried because he's here."

"What?" I exclaimed, worried that, somehow, Natalie had learned my secret. She laughed at my outburst.

"Don't worry, I know you're little plan. You're going back to work so you can ask questions for your dissertation before sending him back in time."

I almost cried out with relief. My ruse was intact.

"Yes, I have to go back tonight. All weekend, actually."

"Well, this isn't how I wanted to celebrate your birthday, but it'll have to do." She leaned forward and gave me a light kiss. Then, she went over to the box. "Be careful with this."

I peeked inside the box and gave a start when I saw something looking back. Gently, I lifted out the grey kitten from the container. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Holmes (the cat) appear. His nose was in the air, and I could tell he already smelled this new arrival. Strange cat that he was, he didn't seem to care about the much younger feline in my hand. I looked at Natalie for an answer.

"You said you wanted a companion for Holmes since you were away at work more often. When Rose's cat had kittens, I took advantage of the opportunity." Natalie gave me another kiss. "What're you going to call him?"

"Are there any options other than Watson?"

"It fits, but I can't give you any points for originality." She started petting the newly christened kitten. "Do you at least have time for a quick dinner before you go?"

"I don't think so. I was already supposed to go back." An idea popped into my mind as I placed the little ball of fluff onto the counter. "Actually, since I'm going to be gone all weekend, would you mind taking Holmes and this little guy?"

"I suppose," Natalie sighed. "But on one condition."

"Which is?"

"You let me meet him. Ten minutes, that's it."

"Natalie-"

"_Please._"

"Fine, I'll call you tomorrow. But I need to pack."

"Alright," Natalie sighed, placing Watson back in his box. "Here, Holmes."

The black cat quickly ran to her, forcing his way between my legs as he did so. Still angry, it seemed. But when Natalie scooped him up her arms, he was the picture of cat perfection.

"Happy birthday. Call me later," she said, planting one final kiss before leaving. As soon as I heard the front door shut I let out a relieved sigh. I had completely forgotten that she was supposed to drop by after work. I'd even forgotten that it was even my birthday. Having a time traveler to look after would do that to a guy.

The clock began to chime, and I realized for the first time exactly how late it was. Everyone else would have left work by now. At least it would be easier to sneak Holmes back in. But if we arrived too late, we might end up being completely locked out.

Racing up the stairs, I was relieved to see that Holmes (the human) was still in the spare room. Both trunks were closed, so I guessed that he hadn't found anything in them. That was a small relief in itself; it would have been highly embarrassing to learn that I'd had the clue to the lost manuscripts all this time.

"It looks like the trail is cold here." He said. "And I didn't know your fiancée was a ballet dancer."

I didn't even bother asking for how he had deduced that. "I'm going to pack my bag and then we're going straight back. You can explain everything in the car."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. I do own a procrastinator's spirit.

Chapter 7

Once I was sure that the great detective was buckled up properly in the passenger seat, I started the drive back to the company. I was still a little upset over the recent developments in my life, so I was content to sit in silence for a few minutes. I knew Holmes wouldn't mind. Of course, I still needed him to answer my questions before we got back. Reluctantly, I broke the silence.

"Why does someone want to kill me?"

"You are John Watson's last heir. Unless the rules of inheritance have drastically changed since my time, you are the first person entitled to any of his belongings."

"I suppose."

"Then why would someone spend a considerable sum in order to bring me to the future to find documents that would then go to you?"

I paused at this notion. It had never occurred to me that I would have a claim to these mysterious manuscripts. I wasn't an expert in property law, so I'd just assumed that after all this time anything that once belonged to the doctor would now be up for grabs. Now I was uncertain.

"As you mentioned, your grandfather has recently passed. Your parents are already deceased and you have no other relatives. The fiend who funded this hunt knows these facts about you. You are the only Watson left, and thus the only one standing between him and my dear friend's writings. He has chosen to act now as you are soon to be married, and it is far easier to cause the death of one man."

The theory made sense. In my disbelief I completely missed my intended turn. I racked my mind for some proof that Holmes was wrong but none came to me. Focusing on the road again, a question came to mind.

"Why would he wait so long to act? My grandfather died months ago…"

"I suppose it took time for the villain to raise the necessary funds for this expenditure. I doubt your contraption is inexpensive."

"Hardly," I laughed nervously. "But why did you say one of my coworkers is in on it?"

"A form of insurance for the true mastermind. Have a man operating on the inside of your organization, one that can keep tabs on you without your knowing, and he is that much closer to killing you," Holmes said. "Have any of your fellows seemed overly interested in you? Perhaps asking about odd details of your life?"

"I can't think of any."

"No unusual habits?"

I snorted. "Most of them are unusual, but none more so than the others. And none are threatening."

"Then they are more resourceful than I first thought. Tell me, has anyone been hired in the past few months?"

"A few people. One or two people were transferred from different divisions within the company. I don't know exactly who."

"Then I suggest you focus. Your grandfather's passing was the catalyst, as we chemists say. It would have been shortly after his death that our double agent would have appeared."

I tried concentrating my thoughts as we pulled into the company's car park. The month after Gramps dying had been a blur of emotion, and I could hardly recall if someone new had started at work. Mrs. Logan had been promoted, but with her clearance she could get Holmes herself, without a client paying for it. Jeff had been in the business before the company, and he could care less about money when there was technology to deal with. Most of the techs who worked under him were also there for the knowledge rather than the pay (which was still obnoxiously high). There were the guides, many of whom were on the poor side, along with the rest of the staff who did who knows what.

As I turned off the car I looked at the few other cars still in the lot. Two cars that I knew belonged to the night watchmen and one large, black van. The latter was rolling away around a corner, clearly speeding. No doubt somebody was on their way to having a fun Friday night.

"Have you remembered anyone?" Holmes asked, observing the main entrance. "I strongly advise against going in unless you are certain that there is not a traitor awaiting our return."

I gave an impatient huff but still closed my eyes in memory. I had met a lot of people when my grandfather died, a lot of employees who just wanted to wish me their condolences. Some of the people I saw regularly afterwards, most I didn't. I couldn't think of anyone who had directly inserted themselves into my life-

"Steven. Steven Coleman. He started hanging out with my friends. I thought they knew him, since he only showed up with other people. I don't remember seeing him before."

"Then we have our man, and our first lead."

"Okay, so I know who to avoid. I can easily outrun him. But now we have to go in." Holmes shrugged his shoulders in defeat, but I knew it wouldn't be that easy with him. The entire way to the front door I stayed within arm reach, in case he tried to run for it. Thankfully, we made it to the entrance without incident. I was almost disappointed until I noticed that the door was locked and the security guard in charge of it was nowhere in sight.

I pressed my face against the glass door, searching for any sign of the missing guard. Since everyone had already gone home, we would need him to unlock the door for us. There was a sinking sensation in my stomach: there was no way Holmes' escape wouldn't get out if the guard had to let us in. I would definitely be sacked.

"Why don't we enter here?" Holmes asked, interrupting my negative thoughts. He had indicated one of the glass panels on the side of the doors. At least, what had once been a pane of glass. Now it was a large, gaping hole.

"No way," I muttered. The glass had been smashed, and the direction of the debris made it clear that someone had forced their way in. "Oh, no."

"It would appear you've had a burglary," Holmes chided, amusement clear in his voice. "Do you still doubt that you are in danger?"

* * *

A/N: The real action and adventure is coming up! Midterms are out of the way, so updates should be coming faster. Thanks for reading!


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